My Hate And Love Of Poetry

1201 WordsAug 28, 20175 Pages
From My Hate To Love of Poetry I hated poetry, loathed it even. Until eighth grade I hated writing, reading, or even listening to poetry. Something about it was remarkably confusing and annoying. Anyone that knows me would most likely think I would enjoy poetry. I am a extremely slow reader, so the fact that poetry is almost always short and easy to read would make people think it is something I would appreciate. The problem with poetry was constantly not having any idea what the author was trying to tell the reader.. Yes, there was an occasional poem that I could really understand. For the most part, though; I would not be able to understand any of them. I always avoided anything that made me feel unintelligent, from that stemmed my…show more content…
Meaning that we need to try and understand what the author of this poem is trying to tell us. The only thing that I have a huge issue with, is the one thing he is demands that we do. As he is telling all this I am sinking into my seat farther and farther. I try not to completely lose my cool as I freak out that on the inside that my grade in this class is going to tank. And poetry is all to blame. When he hands out the first poem a few days later, the anxiety comes back. First he reads through it. My hands shake with the paper in them. It gets so bad that I have to lay it down on the desk. I wipe my palms on my jeans from the sweat that is starting to form, heartbeat speeding up again. When he is finished reading it to us all I can think is, “ I am sooo screwed!” Mr.Stell then says, “These are meant to help you think deeper. Most of you are most likely freaked out because you have no idea what that said.” I glance around the room and see most people look the way that I feel. I can feel the relief flow through my body as I realize I am not the only one that does not know what they are doing. As I actively read through the poem I look for the things he told us to look for. I circle, highlight, and underline trying so hard to try and grasp what the author is trying to convey through his words. And soon enough it is time for the first socratic circle. When I walk into class that day the relief has worn off and the anxiety has come back full force. Palms are

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